The Rose Garden
by lauren lachrymose
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots. [8. Play it cool, boy. Real cool.]
1. Ache

Disclaimer: I don't own it, yadda yadda yadda. Don't rub it in. --

* * *

"Senpai?" Haruhi tossed the blonde an inquisitive look, which was passed by unnoticed, as Tamaki was currently clutching his head, grimacing in pain.

"My brain…" he whispered pitifully, blue eyes growing wide in panic, "I should have seen this coming. I should have worn earplugs to bed… After all, the handsome ones are always the first to go…"

Kyouya appeared at Haruhi's side as if on cue, folding his arms over his chest and looking at his friend with carefully concealed exasperation. "What is it _now_, Tamaki?"

The Host Club president began to thrash around violently on the floor at this point; emitting short shrieks at random intervals.

It looked like he was having a seizure.

By now he had gathered the attention of Hikaru and Kaoru, who had been in the middle of organizing the costumes for the day. The fiendish pair stood on each side of the wailing boy, bored expressions pasted onto their identical faces.

"Tono, I thought we told you not to sniff the permanent markers," said Kaoru with a sigh. His twin crouched down, and then began to poke Tamaki's leg repeatedly. (This was hard to do, as his target was still writhing in agony.)

"The aliens… The aliens are in my brain! It's going to explode! EXPLODE!"

The four Host Club members (Mori and Hunny were still at kendo club) stared at Tamaki, faces blank.

"…An extra terrestrial has burrowed its way inside of your brain?" Kyouya asked slowly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Just how has this managed to occur?"

Tamaki sprang up off of the marble flooring and grasped the front of the Shadow King's jacket with tears in his eyes, "It must have happened the same way it did to Captain Wayne, the good-looking man on the spaceship. He was lying in bed asleep, dreaming about the young Miss Delaney and –"

"–Tiny alien life forms entered his brain through his ears?" Finished the dark-haired boy, tilting his head so that light glinted off of his glasses.

"YES!" the blonde screamed, letting go of the Ootori heir so that he could grab at his skull once more. "I'M GOING TO DIIIE! BITS OF MY BRAIN WILL LITTER THE ROOM AND STAIN MY POOR DAUGHTER'S SHIRT–"

Kyouya really had no time for this. The doors of the third music room were scheduled to open in only fifteen minutes, and they weren't even in costume yet.

"Did you, by any chance, happen to buy that commoner movie I specifically told you _not _to watch? The science-fiction film that I said would give you nightmares?"

Tamaki stopped what he was doing to look up at his best friend guiltily. "Well, yes, but…"

"There's a reason it's called science-_fiction_, Tamaki. It's not real. Your head is not going to explode."

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Hikaru and Kaoru's laughter. The twins were doubled over, tears streaming down their faces. They couldn't even get a single word out.

This was probably a good thing.

Tamaki stood, a look of utter disbelief on his face, as though Kyouya's words had slapped him. "But my head… it hurts…"

"Oh, you must simply have a headache, senpai," said Haruhi, reaching over to a nearby table to grab a plain, dull brown messenger bag that had been thrown unceremoniously on top of it. "Hang on; I think I have some Tylenol in here somewhere…"

The Host Club stared in fascination as the Natural Type removed a small bottle and began to fiddle with the safety lid.

"I always have some with me, because I tend to get migraines a lot when I'm at school. This has actually only started recently, though I don't know why. Over-studying, perhaps? Something like that. Ah, here we go." The lid came off with a sharp 'pop', and rested casually in Haruhi's left hand. "Now, how many to give you… I'm pretty sure two will suffice."

A couple shakes of the bottle, and an identical pair of blue and red capsules was sitting where the lid had been.

Haruhi offered her hand to the astonished Host Club King, "There you are, senpai. That should last about eight hours."

Tamaki looked from the pills in Haruhi's palm, to her smiling face. Pills. Face. Pills. Face. Pills. Face. Pills.

Then, very hesitantly, he began to stretch out his arm to take them.

"Commoner medicine? Is that safe?" Hikaru questioned, elbowing Tamaki out of the way to study the offending drug. "Tono, I think you're better off calling your doctor instead. I'm sure that's more reliable. Have you heard the side-effects of brand name medicine?"

"He's right, milord." Kaoru chimed in, draping an arm around his brother's shoulders, "This stuff could be dangerous."

Haruhi rolled her eyes, starting to get annoyed. Only the Host Club would turn a kind offering into _Let's Make Fun of Commoners_! "C'mon, guys. I take it all the time."

"Well, that's fine if _you_ take it, but giving it to another student is illegal at this school." Kyouya stated, his unruffled air making Haruhi shudder involuntarily.

With an aggravated sigh, she closed her hand into a fist and transferred the Tylenol back to where it came from, tossing the white plastic container into her bag. "Fine. He can go to the infirmary if it gets unbearable."

"No! It's okay! I want to take the commoner pills!" Tamaki squealed, having just had an 'Inner Mind Theatre' with his so-called "daughter" dressed as a nurse.

Kyouya flipped open his black notebook, then glanced at his watch. Ten minutes. "Hikaru, Kaoru. Show Haruhi her costume for the day. I'm going to call Mori and see what's holding them up."

And, just like that, everything was back to normal. Kyouya was on his cell phone, Haruhi was complaining about her clothing (or lack thereof), the Hitachiin brothers were teasing said girl, and Tamaki was on another planet entirely.

"Heehee, Haruhi. Want to feel my pulse?"

Yep. Back to normal.

* * *

A/N: This was written at midnight last night (this morning?), and seemed funny at the time. As I've said before, comedy isn't my strong point. xD If you want, I'll never EVER do it again. You can control what's written if you'd like. The more ideas I get, the better, since I plan on updating every day. Heh. We'll just see how that goes. 


	2. Want

**Want.**

Like so many girls growing up in a high-class society, Éclair always got whatever she asked for.

Unlike those girls, Éclair never really wanted any of it.

Even as a child, she thought herself as unworthy. The princesses her in storybooks had always struggled and gone through some sort of hardship before receiving their crown. Éclair was born into her role. No strings attached. A life of elegance and bliss was simply handed to her.  
She was never scolded. Never disciplined. There were no 'rags' before her 'riches'.

It was just there for the taking.

And she was required to take it.

For a while, the young Tonnere would demand the most outrageous things, hoping that her requests would be denied. Horses, French acrobats, her own private ballet, mountains of chocolate, rooms filled with toys, and a priceless porcelain doll made in her likeness.

She got it all.

Then, at the age of thirteen, an unfamiliar word reached her ears.

"No."

The small girl had blinked. Once. Twice. Her large blue eyes stared at the unflinching figure of her grandmother, not comprehending. "_What did you just say?_" she had questioned with a quiet sort of coldness in her voice.

Thin lips set in a face carved out of stone began to move once more, forming a forbidden phrase.

"No. You don't need them."

It had echoed through the mansion for what seemed an eternity.  
The letters bounced off of each other, occasionally hitting Éclair with edges like knives. She could almost feel the blood trickle down the soft flesh of her arm, marring the perfect skin.

For the first time in her life, she was denied something.

She had been furious. Tossing her golden hair indignantly, Éclair ran to the safety of her bedroom, securing her castle with a 'click' of the lock.

Yes, she was angry.  
But it felt good, because… she _felt._

When her parents had arrived from their outing, they had tried to bribe her out of the room with various promises, all to no avail. Only until the elder Madam Tonnere whispered something through the door, did the princess lower the drawbridge.

There, resting in her grandmother's frail hands was what she had asked – no, demanded – for.  
A dainty pair of opera glasses.

Silently, Éclair took them, her slender fingers moving them slowly so that her face was reflected in the soft purple lenses.  
It was a beautiful face. Perfectly sculpted. Flawless in every sense of the word.

She hated it.

It was lifeless.

Her anger had receded, leaving a blank canvas in its wake. The reds and blacks had been erased. But for a moment, they had been there. So Éclair clung to the glasses as her only shred of proof, that for a few minutes, she had been _alive_.

Three years later, the girl had found something new. Something she actually wanted. Truly _needed_.

This desire was a boy.

Handsome. Charming. Polite. He was a prince in every way.  
He deserved his title.  
She knew of his past, of his unwelcome birth. His mother in France. Their separation.

It had started as payment to the wonderful woman. A kind gesture that had stemmed from the dregs of love left in her heart. At least _someone _would get a fairytale ending. A "Happily Ever After".

When she met him, she didn't expect to _want _him. She didn't expect to feel. It overwhelmed her, stuffing itself into her mouth, her nose, her ears, her eyes. It was everywhere. And for once, the princess fought for it. She had never had to do that before, as there was usually nothing in her way. No dragon or witch.

This time, there was another girl. A commoner named Fujioka Haruhi.

She had taken Éclair's story and ripped it cleanly in two. It wasn't right! The prince _never _fell in love with the pauper! It wasn't supposed to be that way!

So the princess did everything she could to continue writing the correct ending. It would be a work of art. People would stand and applaud. Happily ever after…

As she and the prince rode away into the sunset, off to rule their kingdom, Éclair didn't feel the way she had anticipated. Every time she closed her eyes, Guilt would shove the picture of a pure, brave heroine right into her mind. Every time she glanced over at her prince, she could see a name forming on his lips.

Haruhi.

The pauper arrived heroically, altering the world of fairytales again. The heroine wasn't supposed to rescue the hero.

"Tamaki!" she shouted, reaching toward the prince. When he started to try and close the gap between their fingertips, Éclair panicked.

No, no, _NO! _Without thinking, she put a trembling hand on his arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving. His mother, her carefully planned-out story…

Then she saw the pauper's face.

Haruhi wanted him more than Éclair did. There she was, on a horse-drawn carriage in the middle of a freeway, with brown eyes that burned with love and determination.  
She was every inch a storybook heroine. Pauper turned princess. She, like Tamaki, deserved her title.

She also deserved her prince.

For the first time in her life, Éclair Tonnere had _wanted_.

And she promptly let it go.


	3. Regret

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Never did. Never will.

A/N: Well, so much for 'updated each day'. xD I've just been really busy with finals. Thank God that Summer's here, eh? I was inspired to write this after watching an episode of Smallville, because Lex reminds me of Kyouya in different ways. I sincerely hope that this is in character. If not, sorry!

* * *

"You don't love her, do you?"

The soft consistent sound of fingers hitting the keyboard slowed, but didn't stop. Reflected light hid onyx eyes from view, and a small noise that could have been a chuckle was heard. Kyouya Ootori, eyes still trained on the screen in front of him, smirked at his best friend.

"Not all relationships are about love, Tamaki. You've been watching too much television."

Tamaki folded his arms across his chest, genuinely puzzled. "Then why marry her?"

The dark-haired man's smirk disappeared as he abruptly shut his laptop with a harsh _click_. "Merit." Kyouya turned to face the naïve Frenchman, "You know that nothing else would motivate me."

Frowning, Tamaki moved so that he was directly in front of the young man, one arm supporting him on the expensive glass tabletop.

"Liar."

Kyouya raised an eyebrow, but otherwise kept calm. What did he mean by that, exactly? Did he think that the youngest Ootori was hiding the fact that he did, indeed _love _his fiancée? Tamaki had really played one too many dating simulation games. He supposed he had Renge to thank for that.

"She and I have mutual goals. We both have the desire to ruin our fathers' companies. Well, not so much _ruin_ as –"

A hand came down the table, causing it to wobble dangerously.

"You lied when you said that nothing else would motivate you."

The blonde's words hung in the air for a moment or two, until Kyouya shot them down. "Nothing else _would _motivate me, Tamaki. As I've said before, if you're going to talk nonsense, do it while you're asleep."

With that, he turned back to his work, grabbing a familiar clipboard and flipping through various papers, utterly indifferent. As usual.

But Tamaki wouldn't have it.

"What about Haruhi?" He asked, his voice hardening unintentionally. "What merit did you gain from her?"

The sound of rustling paper died.

Kyouya froze. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"What _about _Haruhi? She has nothing to do with anything. This discussion is over." The clipboard fell, forgotten, to the floor, as Kyouya stood up suddenly from his seat. He began to advance toward the door, picking up his cell phone to call for a limousine, when Tamaki held him back.

"You can't keep running away from her, you know."

Each syllable was spoken softly, but they cut like knives into Kyouya's back, shredding his designer jacket. Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"I'm not running away from her."

"What do you call this, then?" Tamaki took a step forward. "You never call her, never mention her. You haven't spoken to her since her high school graduation –"

"Why would I?" Kyouya's eyes snapped open and he whirled around to face the other man, cool façade torn off completely. "She has nothing to do with me anymore. In case you haven't noticed, we are no longer in the host club. Ouran Academy is a thing of the past. We've grown up, gone our separate ways. Why on _earth _would I contact Fujioka Haruhi?!"

"You love her."

It was a statement, not a question. Tamaki looked at his best friend with understanding, not bothering to hide his own pain at the truth of what he had just said.

Kyouya opened his mouth, and then closed it. For the first time in his life, Kyouya Ootori had nothing to say.

Tamaki gave a small, rueful smile and ran a slender hand through his blonde hair. "I know you know it. I actually figured it out during our senior year." He took a seat on one of the ridiculously expensive cream-colored couches that furnished the work area. "I didn't fully realize it until much later, but I saw the way you looked at her." The smile faded slowly. "You didn't look at anyone else that way. You still don't."

Awaiting a response that never came, Tamaki sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "By the time I had noticed your feelings, she had already rejected my own. So I can't be your excuse for not telling her."

Letting go of a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, Kyouya started to walk toward the couch, but stopped in mid-motion, setting his foot back on the ground.

"I'm being realistic, Tamaki. No relationship between Haruhi and I could ever work out. Not because of social status or upbringing… But because I'm not the right kind of man for her." His voice was the same as it always was – clear and calm. He wore no expression whatsoever. It was his eyes that betrayed him. Onyx eyes that were once unfathomable now shone with a sadness and remorse that had been repressed for years.

By then, Tamaki was beginning to become exasperated. That was _not _the emotional confession he had been anticipating. "How would you know?! You never even tried to find out! For all you know, you could be the perfect guy! The seemingly aloof, yet surprisingly kind-hearted hero who sweeps the heroine off her feet with his charm!"

"In case you haven't noticed, life is not a comic book." Adjusting his glasses so that his eyes were hidden by the light, Kyouya made his way over to his desk and began to gather the array of papers together, putting them in a black bag, along with his laptop. "Life is much more complicated than you might think. Now if you'll excuse me, it's getting late, and I would like to go home."

"Kyouya, please. I just want you to be happy."

Glancing over at his best friend, Kyouya placed his hand on the cool metal of the doorknob. "Then I suggest that you let me leave. After you, of course. This is _my _office."

Tamaki grit his teeth, but did as he was told. Once they were in the elevator, he put a hand on the Ootori's shoulder. "Don't marry that woman, Kyouya. I don't want you to do something that you're going to regret."

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Kyouya looked straight ahead, taking a step out onto the first floor of the parking garage.

"I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that."


	4. Weak

**Disclaimer:** Do I really have to keep doing these?

**A/N:** I'm not sure why I wrote this. I think I just wanted to show Kyouya in a vulnerable state. Too often he's shown as a robot on the inside as well as the outside. That's not the case. Kyouya Ootori is as human as anyone else. Of course, I think I made him a bit... _too _human in this. Eh. I dunno. I guess not. I really only wanted an excuse to write more Kyouya angst. :P Oh, and before I forget... If you read the previous oneshot, listen to this: The question isn't "what did he do?", but "what did he _not _do?"

* * *

"Weak."

The shadow sneers at him from across the room, lips curling into a smug grin. It sits lazily in an antique armchair, legs crossed, one hand holding a cup of tea that nearly frosts over at its touch. The intricate floral design adorning the fabric of the armchair doesn't quite match the dark suit that it is wearing – it looks out of place, yet at home all the same.

The man that had been addressed doesn't move to acknowledge the speaker. He simply continues to grit his teeth and clutch the carpet with hands that tremble.

"You are _weak_."

A voice that's both gentle and harsh at the same time glides over to his broken form, the shadow arriving only a second after. It takes a look at his position – down on all fours – and laughs. A short, barking laugh that makes him flinch.

"So strong around others… but so _pathetic _at home." Cold fingers entwine themselves in his hair, and then pull his head back violently. His limbs give out from underneath him. The rug scratches the skin of his cheek.

The shadow delivers a swift kick to his side, causing the man to roll over onto his back. "Come on, Kyouya. I thought you had more in you." Light glints off of a pair of glasses, an ice-cold smile being carved into a face as white as paper. "Hmm. Guess I was wrong."

The man named Kyouya stands slowly, breathing ragged. He will _not _be defeated by the likes of this monster. He will _not_. He has already been beaten by his two brothers, and it won't happen again.

"But you see… that's just the thing."

Startled, Kyouya looks up at the shadow, which is now leaning casually against one of the many white-washed walls of the ridiculously large bedroom.

"You weren't beaten. You didn't lose. You _gave up_. Stopped trying all together." It yawns and flicks an imaginary piece of lint off of its pitch black suit jacket, "That idiot friend of yours was right."

It takes every ounce of his self control to not attack the shadow the same way he had attacked Tamaki. Lies, lies, and more _lies_. They don't know what they're talking about. Words continue to tumble gracefully out of their mouths, but they still _don't know_ and _don't care _and _don't matter_. Rage bubbles up inside of him, acidic and bitter on the back of his tongue. Red crescent moons appear on the flesh of his hands. Bloods surfaces on the soft skin of his lower lip. _Control control control._

"People describe you as ambitious and determined. But you never really fight for anything you want. Not anything important anyway." The shadow smirks and its features shift. Tall becomes short, pale becomes pink, black becomes brown, arrogance becomes innocence. "Not any_one_ important."

Anger is pushed roughly aside by Shock, who brings Kyouya to his knees once again.

_Haruhi_.

Her name sends waves of emotion through him, each fighting desperately with each other. They fight a war that is impossible to win. Because she's so lovely and pure and kind and everything Kyouya will never be and never have. Because he wants her and needs her and no matter how hard he tries, he can't figure her out. Because she's Haruhi. And she attempts to be nothing more.

The shadow stands over him in the form of the commoner girl – the brilliant, mysterious commoner girl – and tilts his chin up with its fingertips. Kyouya knows that it's all an illusion, that she's not really there, but that doesn't stop him from being so terribly _tempted_. He's tempted and ashamed and oh-so-very _weak_. He feels the way he did that night at the beach house, only this time there are no words to shake him out of it. It disgusts him, how weak he is. How he lets his emotions control him when no one is around to see. The shadow laughs at the look in his eyes and grabs Kyouya's chin a bit harder, letting go to pat him on the cheek in a demeaning manner.

It doesn't say anything, for which Kyouya is grateful.

But it also doesn't change back before disappearing. And that only pushes the knife further into the wound.

_Selfish. Shameful. Dishonest. Weakweakweakweakweak. _

An annoyingly over-played pop song shatters the tense silence that had spread itself into a sheet of ice around the room, making Kyouya cringe. Wearily, he rises to his feet, gingerly picking his cell phone from on top of the dresser. A digital photo flashes on the tiny screen.

Kyouya takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and puts on his glasses.

"What is it now, Tamaki?"

Somewhere inside, the shadow smiles.


	5. Ice

**Disclaimer: **Yeah... still don't own it. Sorry.  
**A/N:** Heh. Yes, yet another Kyouya/Haruhi related drabble. I promise my next one will be something different. I just had this scene in my head after watching the series finale of _Buffy_, which is where the dialogue stems from. I actually hadn't planned on putting 'Fistful of Sand' at the beginning, but as I was writing this, that song came on my iPod. And whaddya know - it fit! (By the way, I highly suggest that you go out and buy the new The Bravery album. 'Tis very good.) Oh, and sorry it's so painfully short! I just couldn't stand to make it anything longer. It seemed complete to me.

* * *

_Every morning I wake up and you are home  
But in your eyes I see that I'm alone  
You've left me with your body in my arms  
But I can't feel you anymore - You are gone_

_**- 'Fistful of Sand' by the Bravery  
**_

"I love you."

There was no hesitation. His voice did not tremble, did not break. He said it the same way he says everything – confidently and clearly. He had no reason to say it any differently, because he never speaks without thinking it through first. He had calculated every appropriate response, every reaction. And you expected nothing less.  
Against your will, you smiled. It was a small smile, caught only by those observant enough to find it. He just so happened to be one of those observant few.

Tentatively, you began to lightly trace his collarbone with your fingertips, once again surprised at how soft his skin was. You always imagined him as being cold and rigid; the flawless ice sculpture he made himself out to be. Of course, despite the fact that he was, indeed, _human, _he was still made of ice. You had thought that, maybe… _just maybe_… he would have changed. Would have 'opened up' somehow, shown his true colors. You – foolishly, blindly, _childishly _– thought that the ice would melt the closer you got to him.

But it never did.

Regardless, you held on. You found yourself being drawn in by the challenge. You found yourself falling further and further for this frigid, faceless shadow, with his debonair good-looks and aristocratic smile. You didn't want to. You never, not in a million years, thought you would. Yet, somehow along the way, you did.

You fell in love.

All this time, you had been waiting for a transformation that never came. A transformation that would never happen, no matter how many times he uttered the same three words. Against your will, you realized this. A part of you wanted to continue this charade, to continue being both happy and sad (alive and dead) at the same time. But you knew you couldn't.

So you dared to tilt your head up in order to look at his face once more, moving your fingers so they ran across his jaw line. Those impenetrable eyes of his – unguarded without his glasses – closed briefly. Leaning forward, you pressed your mouth to his own in a kiss that was barely there, and then whispered something against his lips that even he did not foretell.

"No you don't. But thanks for saying it."


	6. Pretend

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.  
**A/N: **Wow. It's been a while, huh? Haha. I've started many different one-shots, but I haven't finished any until now. Not sure why. Maybe it's because I love adding depth to one-time characters. Sorry that I couldn't stray away from angst. I'll try to write something else next time, honest!

* * *

According to Kirimi's older brother, the two of them hadn't always been so close. There had been a period of time when she was afraid of Umehito, although she can't imagine why, because nothing about him is remotely frightening.

He was the one who taught her to embrace her fear, whether it was the monster under her bed or the sadistic witch in one of her shoujo manga. Darkness was infinitely more comforting than light to her – to _them _– in their wondrous world of magic and chaos and demons and armies of cats with eyes that smiled. Fantasy became more real than reality, and Kirimi started to become puzzled as she found herself suddenly waking up to harsh light and the scratching of pen against paper and _hadn't I been brewing potion a moment ago?_

She remembers being called over to her teacher's desk after class had ended, the stout old man asking question after question (riddle after riddle) but the _"Are you getting enough sleep at night?"_ and _"If you don't start paying attention, I'm going to give you a demerit"_ just flew past Kirimi's head.

All she could think about was how much Oshiro-sensei resembled the sphinx that guarded the castle gates.

When she was talking to Umehito one evening as they were taking a stroll through the Enchanted Gardens, she accidentally let slip that she had been assigned a detention for that upcoming Saturday. Like any caring older brother, he had been concerned, and the garden soon turned back into Guest Bedroom No. 13. His blue eyes swam with guilt and worry for his younger sibling, although at the time, Kirimi was at a loss as to why.

"It's only one detention, brother."

"That's beside the point! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was the reason for – for _this_!"

She didn't quite understand what 'this' meant, or why he was making such a fuss over virtually nothing, which is why Umehito's next words shocked her into silence.

"Kirimi… I think it would be wise to… stop coming to the Dark World –"

_What!?_

"–Just for a little while, until you get your grades back up. The puppet-servants will have everything under control –"

_What am I supposed to do with my time? What about the Bereznoffians? They will surely miss their king and queen!_

"Everything will be fine. This is actually quite convenient–"

_Convenient? What do you mean!?_

"– as I really need to start a job, because we can't live off of our inheritance forever. Miss Hoshakuji, an old classmate of mine, has a rather successful anime and manga series, and she has offered me a job. You remember Miss Hoshakuji… Renge is her first name. She used to read you those stories that you like –"

_You're leaving me with Kuretake for a __**job**!?_

"You'll still see me every day, as I plan on living here, of course. I just won't have as much time on my hands. I also need to start looking for a wife, and nobody wants to marry a 24 year old man who spends all of his time with his little sister."

Bereznoff fell out of her hand and onto the floor.

--

Kirimi doesn't remember much that happened after that. Umehito spent more time away from home with each passing day, and the tick tock-ing of the clock in her bedroom began to sound more and more like sinister whispers, only not the good kind.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock, he's _never _coming back."

It was right, in a way. Sure, he returned home. He had to, because after all, a part of him still loved Kirimi dearly. But when he arrived with a red-headed girl attached to his arm and a black cloak-less body, she realized that the other part had a new love.

Renge Hoshakuji.

When she was younger and fascinated with handsome boys and doe-eyed girls and they-all-lived-happily-ever-after, she had adored the bubbly otaku.

This was why her brother had been devastated when eleven-year old Kirimi locked herself in her room and announced that she wouldn't be attending the wedding.

--

Three years have passed since then, and Umehito Nekozawa has moved along with his life. A few weeks ago, Kuretake informed Kirimi that she was an aunt to a beautiful little girl. She nodded and smiled pleasantly, but inside she was a tad confused. Aunt? How could she be an aunt? Her only sibling lived alongside her in the castle with Bereznoff. Surely if he had gotten married, she would have known.

But as the Dark Queen sits on her throne, she steals a worried glance toward the King. He looks like Umehito and sounds like Umehito, but unlike the brother from her childhood, he never leaves the Dark World. Bereznoff has often told her that it's because he's such a devoted king, yet sometimes – most times – Kirimi has to bring up the possibility that he's not really her brother at all, and only an illusion.

"My lady, that's preposterous!" Bereznoff scoffs at her outlandish claim, affectionately tweaking her nose in a way that's both familiar and strange.

She lets out a laugh that's much too forced and a grin that's much too fake. She doesn't argue or press the matter, because deep down, she knows it to be true.

As a child, Kirimi had her fantasy characters that were _"real, I know they are!" _Umehito had his shadows and secrets kept locked away for no one to find, no one to see, for they were his and his alone.

Together, they ruled a kingdom unlike any other, and they were happy with their world of make-believe.

But the King had to grow up sometime, so he traded his crown for a wife and child, letting his magic scepter gather dust on the throne room floor. 

And Kirimi never stopped pretending.


	7. Summer

**Disclaimer: **Honestly, do I have to keep doing these?  
**A/N: **You know what? I was actually sick of angst. Hard to believe, eh? And well, since it's the end of summer and all, I decided to write a cute little friendship fic about our favorite hosts during the break. Kyouya/Haruhi if you squint. 

* * *

"Hey Haruhi," Hikaru says, and by his tone of voice she can just tell she won't like what she hears, "why aren't you swimming like the rest of us?"

That is a very good question. Of course, there are a million answers, because she's Haruhi and Haruhi has an answer for just about everything. But instead of replying right away with some blunt (_but adorable_) statement, she takes a moment to ponder this. It's a hot summer day – hot enough to make your large white shirt stick to your back in an uncomfortable way, but you still refuse to take it off because there is _no way I'm wearing that bathing suit, Tamaki! _Even the plush orange towel that she's sitting on has become rather warm, much to her disappointment. She _had _been considering taking a nap, but decided that she'd die of heatstroke while she slept.

If anything, the cool, blue ocean looks incredibly tempting to Haruhi at this moment in time. But she's sure that she'd drown in this ridiculously huge t-shirt of Kyouya's, wait, why is she even wearing his shirt to begin with?

With her trademark sigh of agitation, the small girl pushes her melting strawberry popsicle into Hikaru's line of vision and waves it back and forth. After a short moment of silence and evident confusion on poor Hikaru's part, Haruhi pulls her popsicle back toward her and pops it back into her mouth, ridding it of excess artificial flavoring.

"I'm eating," she says, expressionless.

Now, any self-respecting Hitachiin would have draped themselves around her, whining about how that wasn't an excuse, but the sight of cute little Haruhi with a popsicle stick poking out of her mouth and red juice running down her chin is just _too much_.

So he dashes off and dives headfirst into the water to cool himself down.

And Haruhi notes absently that he's the third of the hosts to do that today, Tamaki and Kaoru being the first two, of course.

Much to her chagrin, she discovers that her popsicle is gone, so she puts the stick into her bag to throw away later, completely disregarding the fact that there's a trash can near one of those rocks over there.

With nothing left to cool her off, Haruhi becomes frustrated, which she later claims was only because she was hungry, and had nothing to do with the heat _whatsoever_. The sun is relentless and cruel, and doesn't feel like putting up with cranky little girls complaining about how it was supposed to rain today. So she pulls off Kyouya's shirt and runs to the edge of the water, but doesn't jump in, because Haruhi never jumps into anything without thinking, oh no.

Every host stops what they're doing to stare unabashedly (with the exception of Mori and Kyouya, because Mori is Mori and Kyouya doesn't think it's dignified to gawk, but _maybe just a peek_) at their favorite commoner while she tests the water with her foot. After contemplating the temperature for a second, and deciding it's infinitely better than the air, she slowly wades in.

It's a beautiful spectacle.

But as she turns around to face them, the boys (_young men_) spur into action.

The twins swim over to their plaything and praise the wonderful work they did on the suit, even if they're really praising Haruhi.

Hunny suddenly appears in the water next to the classmate trio, clutching Haruhi's arm with one hand, his tube with the other. "Haru-chan looks so cuuuuute!"

Mori is Mori and appears as suddenly as Hunny did, and pats Haruhi affectionately on the head.

Tamaki is wrenched out of his Inner-Mind-Theatre, only to find his precious 'daughter' being 'defiled by those nasty doppelgangers', who he promptly attempts to pry away from Haruhi, _as a father should._

And Kyouya simply sits there on the beach, notebook in hand, making a mental note that Haruhi will have to return that t-shirt to him later that night.


	8. Cool

**A/N:** I'm back! And with angst! This was inspired after watching _West Side Story_ last night for the millionth time. It's AU, which is always fun to write. I purposely made things a bit vague, just so it would feel more like you were inside Kaoru's head. Because you don't recall your entire life history during random times, do you? Didn't think so. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

"Hikaru, are you sure we should be doing this?"

"'Course we should be!" he replied, the city lights making his grin glow. "The night is young, and so are we. Can't stay cooped up in that old parking garage. It's no place for respectable young men such as us to hang out."

"Respectable?" I snorted, but made no further protests. I might have been the more sensible twin, but I certainly wasn't the wet blanket.

Hikaru's smirk only grew and it became so bright and almost _feline_. A grin without a cat.

I heard laughter behind me, and turned around to see Kyouya holding Tamaki in a 'friendly' headlock; the idiot blonde was giggling like a madman, and I could see the hint of true annoyance hidden behind his captor's calculating smile.

Airplanes and satellites twinkled in the orange sky like artificial stars, because there were no such things as real stars in New York City – at least, not the kind you find in space.

Crisp autumn air pinched my nose affectionately, as if enjoying the moment with us. We were not over seventeen; four boys living life the way we wanted to, the way that made most people turn their noses up when we walked by. But we were happy (_most of the time_), free (_in our own part of town_), and invincible.

_Almost._

--

Gunshots.

Shouts.

Blood.

They were everywhere. In my ears, in my mouth, in my eyes.

The gunshots were pouring out into the street – enemy territory that we shouldn't have been in, but "_it'll only be a second_" – and caused shouts so loud I could almost taste them on my tongue.

The blood?

The blood I saw.

It ripped a hole in my brother's abdomen, glittering in the light just like his smile. The knife that had done the deed lay on the eroded concrete next to him.

Before I could comprehend what I was doing, the weapon was in my hands. It felt like melting chocolate, warm and sticky.

Then there was a strangled sound; a wail of sixteen years worth of hatred. It clawed its way out of my throat, took the knife from my hands…

And stabbed the leader of the opposing gang (_murderer_) while everyone else watched (_cowards_).

His life came rushing out of him, staining the front of my shirt and the skin on my hands. He fell to a heap on the pavement in front of my feet.

I ran.

--

Police sirens greeted me as I skidded to a stop, the blue and red lights preventing me from moving. Questions were asked, tears were released, and I was thrown into a car that was more familiar than it should have been.

I didn't look back at Tamaki as he cried unabashedly.

I didn't return the nod that Kyouya sent my way.

And I didn't _dare _to meet Haruhi's gaze as she watched the police car drive off.

Because Hikaru's mantra kept coming back to me:

Play it cool, boy.

_Real cool_.


End file.
